nerf herder are a midnineties rock band, right?
by ratherembarrassing
Summary: It's weird, sharing a house with a boy. / Sam is living with the Berrys.


notes: because sam is living _somewhere_, it might as well be with rachel. finn died in a fire. this is porn. i regret nothing. (also, totally unbeta'd, so proceed with caution.)

...

It's weird, sharing a house with a boy.

Obviously she has lived with her dads her whole life, but this is different. Sam is someone she once asked to prom, had been partnered with on stage, had seen dancing almost naked.

But it is for the most part perfectly enjoyable, having someone else her age around to talk to, to ride to school with in her last year's model Prius, and to use as a test subject for the vegan cooking even her dads won't risk any more.

Her dads warm to Sam immediately, and dinner conversations take an unfamiliar masculine tone as Sam became more comfortable living with them, talking football with Dad and Nascar of all things with Daddy. Rachel's fairly certain Dad sits Sam down at one point and has a very serious conversation about when girls are and are not allowed in the house.

This strikes Rachel as particularly funny for some reason.

...

Thursday nights they watch Project Runway as a family. At first, Sam spent the hour each week messing with his phone or reading a book, but it hadn't taken long before he had an opinion about who should be going home, and wondering with the rest of them why Tim Gunn wasn't president of the universe.

Tonight, once it's over, they pack up the school work they had been doing in the commercial breaks, and Rachel picks up every last piece of popcorn she and Hiram had thrown at the television. No one was happy with this week's outcome.

"Good night, Dad, Daddy," Rachel kisses each of them as they, too, move around the living room packing up for the evening.

As she makes her way up the stairs she sees Sam hugging Daddy, very briefly, and wonders when that happened, when Sam had become such a part of her family that he hugged her fathers good night like a good son. Or perhaps not even like a good son, just like a Sam, who understands these things better than anyone else their age.

...

She's never seen Star Wars before.

Sam doesn't take this news very well, and so they were watching one every night until she has seen all six. Sam spends twenty minutes explaining why they are starting with Episode IV, and she appreciates that he wants her to have the most authentic experience.

It's an enjoyable movie, and being familiar with other, very different, films from the the same era, she can appreciate how significant it was for its time. She tells Sam all this, and he nods excitedly, but when he starts talking about why the T-65 X-wing starfighters are obviously superior to the B-wing starfighters, she just smiles and wonders if she looks this happy when she talks about musicals.

"I hope Leia doesn't end up with Luke Skywalker," she says as they're brushing their teeth for bed a little later. "He's like the annoying younger brother of the group. Or at least what popular culture leads me to believe younger brothers are like, which appears to be very annoying." She shoves her toothbrush back into her mouth and continues brushing.

They share a bathroom, because hers is the only one in the house besides her fathers' ensuite. At first this had been a contributing factor to the weirdness of living with a boy — living with anybody, really — but they had worked out an acceptable system. Their only overlap in daily routine was at night before bed, and they had agreed they could share the space for face washing and dental hygiene.

"You were a bit like Luke Skywalker, last year. Now I think you're more like Han Solo." She wipes her mouth and hands on a towel.

"You mean you don't think of me as a little brother," Sam laughs.

"Not really, no. Good night, Sam," she says quietly, slipping out the door.

...

She's having trouble falling asleep.

This isn't unusual, but there's usually an obvious trigger. It bothers her when she can't work out what it is, and that makes her further unable to sleep. Sometimes a simple do-over tricks her brain into quieting down, so she hops out of bed, shuffles her feet into her slippers, and heads towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

The house is dark, so her parents are already in bed, and she must have been trying to sleep for at least half an hour. Her bedroom is at the other end of the hallway from the the stairs. Before they soundproofed, it had been to allow her to practice singing without driving her fathers crazy, but as she got older she had grown to appreciate the privacy it afforded her. The guest bedroom, and then the bathroom were also on this hallway, and then her fathers around the other side of the stairs.

There's a strip of light shining under the bathroom door, and she must have forgotten to switch it off before going to bed. She's quite concerned about what has her so distracted tonight, that she would neglect to do something as simple as turn off a light, and she pulls the door open with a huff to rectify the situation.

She really must be distracted, because it honestly never occurred to her that someone else would be in there. That someone being Sam, currently standing by the sink with his boxer briefs around his thighs and his hand wrapped around his cock.

She whole body jerks with shock, forcing her ribs to expand and air to rush in with a gasp, then locks into place and she can't make her eyes look away.

Sam isn't moving, like he's trying to blend into the environment, or wishing some deity would strike him dead. He's unsuccessful, and she continues to stare.

"Oh, my god," he squeaks out. "Oh, my god," he says a little louder, and grabs at his boxer briefs, trying to haul them up past where his fist is still frozen around himself. It doesn't work, just pushes at his hand, and he makes this noise that shivers down Rachel's spine.

Perhaps this is why people watch pornography, she thinks, because just the sight before her and that sound has her stomach clenching. Sam's flushed across his bare chest. She doesn't want him to be embarrassed, it's perfectly natural. In the back of her head she hears herself telling the Celibacy Club that girls want sex just as much as guys do, which is turning out to be true. She takes the two steps to cross the bathroom, and before he can finish pulling his briefs back up she grasps his hand, stilling his movements.

Sam's cock appears to be, although she is trying not to stare at it, almost completely hard, the head nudging against her wrist. His hips jerk at the drag of skin.

"Rachel," he says, like he's scared, like he's panicking, like he doesn't know what she's doing.

"Shhh," she says, and places her hand very deliberately on his other hand. She squeezes, very gently until Sam's breath catches and his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

She smiles, watching him trying to gather himself, and when his eyes open again, they're confused, but interested.

"Please," she says, looking up to where he is staring at her with wide eyes, "allow me."

Her other hand is still at his side, and she pushes his hand and his shorts down, far enough for them to fall to his ankles.

She drags his hand up his shaft and then out of the way, and she's about to touch him, when he says, "wait, hold on." She jerks back, but he stops her retreat. "No, wait. Just— can I? You, too? Touch, I mean. Oh, god, I sound like Yoda." He sucks on both his lips, and she can see how awkward he feels.

"Yeah," she chuckles, ignoring the last part of his muttering, and takes his hand in hers. They're just standing there, so she raises his hand to her chest. "Yeah, that would be good."

She reaches for him again, and at the contact his hand clenches, and it's good. She touches again, and he gets the message, moving his hand in time with hers. His other hand rests on her hip, but as they lean into each other, his hand shifts down and his palm curves around the swell of her ass. She sighs at the contact, surprised at how arousing that part of her body is, and he puts both hands into it.

She' still working her hand on his cock, resting her head on his chest and curling into him like they've done this a million times before. His hands are pulling her in close, and she just wants to be closer.

"Sam," she says, and he pulls back, his hands sliding up to rest where her spine curves. "Can we please—" she knows she should say it, she understands about asking for what you want in a sexual relationship, but she would really like for him to just understand what she's asking. He must, because he just says, "really?" and she nods.

Wrapping his hands around the back of her thighs, he lifts her up onto the counter, setting her on the edge before pushing her knees apart. Her nightgown is draped across the top of her legs, and it's nothing for his fingers to catch at the flimsy material, dragging it up past her hips and exposing her to his gaze.

She's visibly wet, from touching him in such an intimate manner and the press of his hand to her breast and ass, and his eyes are fixed on her there, even as he bunches her nightgown in his hands. Perhaps she ought to feel self-conscious, but it's _Sam_, and she watched him eat five pieces of toast this morning and last night he brought her home a milkshake from the place in town she harassed into getting vegan ingredients. She thought they'd become friends, but she's never been this comfortable with a friend before, so maybe he's not just a friend.

She raises her hands from where they're resting on his shoulders, and he follows her lead, lifting the gown over her head. His hands come down to settle on her hips.

They haven't even kissed, is the thought in her head, and there is a natural reflex to look at his lips. He's looking right at her face now, so he doesn't miss it, just laughs once, because it's so silly, and closes the gap between them.

He's good at it, which isn't all that surprising given that he dated Quinn, who would not tolerate anything sloppy or gross —although she did date Finn, twice, so maybe not— and then Santana, who— she's not even sure what contribution Santana would have made to this, so it was either Quinn, maybe, or natural talent. His lips are awfully beautiful, perhaps they were just meant for exactly this.

They're both naked, and wandering hands get intimate quickly. Sam's hands trace across the top of her thighs and up her stomach to curl around her ribs, her breasts fitting into the arch of his thumb and finger. He breaks away from the kiss to look down at her chest, and he must like what he sees because she can see his cock twitch with growing arousal. He drags his thumbs up and across her nipples, and she likes that, a lot. She curls into the crook of his neck, watching his fingers moving over her, working each breast into a tight peak.

"Open that drawer," she nods to her right. He does, and immediately knows she means for him to take a condom from the box inside, sitting next to her q-tips and makeup remover. She takes it from him and places it on the counter beside her.

She shuffles as far forward as she can and hooks her ankles at the back of Sam's legs. She wraps her hand around his cock, which is pressing into her belly, and he's hot to her touch and so hard that his foreskin has pulled completely back. She swipes her thumb through the pre-cum already gathering, spreading it across the head and over her palm. Her fist pumps back and forth a few times, and Sam's fingers flex into her hips. He rests his forehead on her shoulder, mirroring her earlier actions, looking down to where she's touching him, and he's close enough that she can hear his harsh exhale every few up strokes. She tears open the condom wrapper one-handed, continuing to work at him until she's ready to roll it down his length.

"Ready," she asks, and it seems to rouse something in him, her own assertiveness finally eclipsed. "Not just yet," he says, moving his fingers over her. He draws a finger through the shine of arousal along her folds, pushing between them and up into her clit. She likes that her knows that it even exists, likes even more that he knows where it is, and she arches into his hand.

She's starting to shift against him and he drops kisses up her jaw in time with his movements. "Now, ready," he whispers when he reaches her ear.

She make a noise when he pulls his hand away from her, but he's back quickly, this time running his cock between her folds. She rests her arms over his shoulders, foreheads together as they look down at where he's moving. He presses into her, over and over, as her body gets used to the idea, until the head slips in with a jolt.

It should be odd that before today she didn't even know what his lips felt like, and now she knows what his penis looks and feels like, and how he likes it to be touched, with a surprisingly firm grip and a not quite rhythmic stroke. It should be odd that he knows what she looks like, sounds like. It should be odd but it's not, it just feels comfortable, and she presses into the curve of his spine and lets him angle his hips enough to sink fully into her. There's that burn of newness that's still there, she hasn't done this that many times, but she doesn't flinch. Sam's fingers rub at her side, counting out a beat for her to breathe to, and then her fingers are pushing again, giving him permission to move.

It doesn't last very long. He's built her up high, and with the rock of his hips into hers taking her right to the edge, her gasped, "oh god, please," has him pressing between them and thumbing at her clit. She comes with a tiny cry into his shoulder, and he strokes her through it. She's quickly sensitive as she comes down, and he takes his hand away, but his continued movement inside her is fine, nice even, and she urges him on. She drags her nails up his neck, scratching at the back of his neck, and she can feel him pulse inside her as his arms tense around her for a moment.

She hums with pleasure, and he starts to laugh. "That was nice," she sighs, and she's glad he's not freaking out. He leans back and presses a kiss to her lips as he pulls out.

"That was… unexpected. But, yes," he says, dealing with the condom while she pulls her nightgown back on. He pulls on his shorts and the sweats that had been on the floor, then offers her a hand for her to hop down from the counter. He laughs again, and she can't help but giggle through the shushing sound she makes.

She steps over to the door, his hand still holding hers, and she turns around and leans against the closed door. "Princess Leia ends up with Han Solo, right?"

"Spoilers, Rach, you have to wait and see," he says very seriously.

"I think she ends up with Han Solo," she says, and then turns and opens the door behind her.

...

At breakfast, they sit opposite each other, and her Dad asks if they have any plans for their Saturday.

"I think we're going to watch another Star Wars," Rachel says with a smile.

"That Luke Skywalker," her Daddy sighs. "He's so dreamy."

Sam makes a strangled noise around his cereal spoon, and Rachel smothers a laugh. "Gross, Daddy. Han Solo is much more attractive."


End file.
